Small Great Things Read online

  If I weren't so terrified, I would laugh. That's it? That's the way Odette glossed over the racism that led to that damn Post-it note on the file? It's almost impressive, the way she so neatly flipped it so that before the jury got a glance at the ugliness, they were looking at something else entirely: patients' rights. I glance at Kennedy, and she shrugs the tiniest bit. I told you so.

  "On Saturday morning, little Davis Bauer was taken to the nursery for his circumcision. The defendant was alone in that room when the baby went into distress. So what did she do?" Odette hesitates. "Nothing. This nurse with over twenty years of experience, this woman who had taken an oath to administer care as best she could, just stood there." Turning, she points to me. "The defendant stood there, and she watched that baby struggle to breathe, and she let that baby die."

  Now I can feel the jury picking me over, jackals at carrion. Some of them seem curious, some stare with revulsion. It makes me want to crawl under the defense table. Take a shower. But then I feel Kennedy squeeze my hand where it rests on my lap, and I lift my chin. Do not let them see you sweat, she'd said.

  "Ruth Jefferson's behavior was wanton, reckless, and intentional. Ruth Jefferson is a murderer."

  Hearing the word leveled at me, even though I have been expecting it, still takes me by surprise. I try to build a levee against the shock of it, by picturing in quick succession all the babies I have held in my arms, the first touch they've had for comfort in this world.

  "The evidence will show that the defendant stood there doing nothing while that infant fought for his life. When other medical professionals came in and prodded her into action, she used more force than was necessary and violated all the professional standards of care. She was so violent to this little baby boy that you will see the bruising in his autopsy photos."

  She faces the jury once more. "We have all had our feelings hurt, ladies and gentlemen," Odette says. "But even if you don't feel that a choice was made correctly--even if you find it a moral affront--you don't retaliate. You don't cause harm to an innocent, to get back at the person who's wronged you. And yet this is exactly what the defendant did. Had she acted in accordance with her training as a medical professional, instead of being motivated by rage and retaliation, Davis Bauer would be alive today. But with Ruth Jefferson on the job?" She looks me square in the eye. "That baby didn't stand a chance."

  Beside me, Kennedy rises smoothly. She walks toward the jury, her heels clicking on the tile floor. "The prosecutor," she says, "will have you believe this case is black and white. But not in the way that you think. I'm representing Ruth Jefferson. She is a graduate of SUNY Plattsburgh who went on to get a nursing degree at Yale. She has practiced as a labor and delivery nurse for over twenty years in the state of Connecticut. She was married to Wesley Jefferson, who died overseas serving in our military. By herself, she raised a son, Edison, an honor student who is applying to college. Ruth Jefferson is not a monster, ladies and gentlemen. She is a good mother, she was a good wife, and she is an exemplary nurse."

  She crosses back to the defense table and puts her hand on my shoulder. "The evidence is going to show that one day, a baby died during Ruth's shift. Not just any baby, though. The infant was the child of Turk Bauer, a man who hated her because of her skin color. And what happened? When the baby died, he went to the police and blamed Ruth. In spite of the fact that the pediatrician--who you will hear from--commended Ruth for the way she fought to save that infant during his respiratory arrest. In spite of the fact that Ruth's boss--who you will hear from--told Ruth not to touch this child, when the hospital had no right to tell her to abandon her duty as a nurse."

  Kennedy walks toward the jury again. "Here is what the evidence will show: Ruth was confronted with an impossible situation. Should she follow the orders of her supervisor, and the misguided wishes of the baby's parents? Or should she do whatever she possibly could to save his life?

  "Ms. Lawton said that this case was tragic, and she is right. But again, not for the reason you think. Because nothing Ruth Jefferson did or didn't do would have made a difference for little Davis Bauer. What the Bauers--and the hospital--did not know at the time is that the baby had a life-threatening condition that had gone unidentified. And it wouldn't have mattered if it were Ruth in the room with him, or Florence Nightingale. There is simply no way Davis Bauer would have survived."

  She spreads her hands, a concession. "The prosecutor would have you believe that the reason we are here today is negligence. But it was not Ruth who was inattentive--it was the hospital and the state lab, which failed to promptly flag a severe medical condition in the infant that, if diagnosed sooner, might have saved his life. The prosecutor would have you believe that the reason we are here today is rage and retaliation. That's true. But it's not Ruth who was consumed by anger. It was Turk and Brittany Bauer, who, lost in grief and pain, wanted to find a scapegoat. If they could not have their son, alive and healthy, they wanted someone else to suffer. And so, they targeted Ruth Jefferson." She looks at the jury. "There has already been one innocent victim. I urge you to prevent there being a second."

  --

  I HAVEN'T SEEN Corinne in months. She looks older, and there are circles under her eyes. I wonder if she is with the same boyfriend, if she's been ill, what crisis has overtaken her life lately. I remember how when we got salads down in the cafeteria and ate them in the break room, she would give me her tomatoes and I would pass over my olives.

  If the past few months have taught me anything, it's that friendship is a smoke screen. The people you think are solid turn out to be mirrors and light; and then you look down and realize there are others you took for granted, those who are your foundation. A year ago, I would have told you that Corinne and I were close, but that turned out to be proximity instead of connection. We were default acquaintances, buying each other Christmas gifts and going out for tapas on Thursday nights not because we had so much in common, but because we worked so hard and so long that it was easier to continue our shorthand conversation than to branch out and teach someone else the language.

  Odette asks Corinne to give her name, her address. Then she asks, "Are you employed?"

  From the witness stand, Corinne makes eye contact with me, and then her gaze slides away. "Yes. At Mercy-West Haven Hospital."

  "Do you know the defendant in this matter?"

  "Yes," Corinne admits. "I do."

  But she doesn't, not really. She never did.

  To be fair, I guess, I didn't really know who I was, either.

  "How long have you known her?" Odette asks.

  "Seven years. We worked together as nurses on the L and D ward."

  "I see," the prosecutor says. "Were you both working on October second, 2015?"

  "Yes. We started our shift at seven A.M."

  "Did you care for Davis Bauer that morning?"

  "Yes," Corinne says. "But I took over for Ruth."

  "Why?"

  "Our supervisor, Marie Malone, asked me to."

  Odette makes a big to-do about entering a certified copy of the medical record into evidence. "I'd like to refer you to exhibit twenty-four, in front of you. Can you tell the jury what it is?"

  "A medical records folder," Corinne explains. "Davis Bauer was the patient."

  "Is there a note in the front of the file?"

  "Yes," Corinne says, and she reads it aloud. "No African American personnel to care for this patient."

  Each word, it's a bullet.

  "As a result of this, the patient was reassigned from the defendant to you, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you observe Ruth's reaction to that note?" Odette asks.

  "I did. She was angry and upset. She told me that Marie had taken her off the case because she's Black, and I said that didn't sound like Marie. You know, like, there must have been more going on. She didn't want to hear it. She said, 'That baby means nothing to me.' And then she stormed off."

  Stormed off? I went down the staircase, inste